


The Path through Sand

by myaami



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Canon Typical Violence, Identity, Implied Spoilers for Persona 1 - 4, M/M, Mystery, No Spoilers for P5R, Prince!Akechi, Reimagined Persona Powers, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shuake Big Bang 2020, Vandal!Akira, spoilers for p5 vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myaami/pseuds/myaami
Summary: “Consider this your calling card,” Akira says, tapping the vandalized mural. The fresh paint stains his already red gloves a different shade. “You know what it means now that I’ve tagged you, right?” He holds a clean finger to his lips, a whisper, a secret. A challenge. “I can’t wait to see what you do, Prince.”Once upon a time, Goro was made to play a game with the God Mask Loki. He won—or lost, depending on the perspective—and as a result, his existence asGorowas swept under the rug and rewritten, because his father preferred to have his golden boy alive rather than dead and left with the one fated to be forgotten.Years later and going asPrince Akechi, Goro meets a vandal who calls to see his justice and taunts him with riddles too wild to be true. But the world starts to spin as Goro inquires into the rumored Shadow Sight, and it spins some more when he’s faced with the manifestation of the rumor before his very eyes. With everything turned upside down and Akira keeping a cryptic watch from the shadows, Goro grapples with what he must give up in order to discover the truth.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 17
Kudos: 69
Collections: Shuake Big Bang 2020





	The Path through Sand

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the Shuake Big Bang! I hope you enjoy! :D
> 
> [@clarocod](https://twitter.com/clarocod) drew an **absolutely beautifully stunning piece** to accompany the fic!! Thank you for bringing it to life with your art, you are amazing! <3
> 
> [ https://twitter.com/ClaroCod/status/1292974649945600002](https://twitter.com/ClaroCod/status/1292974649945600002)

* * *

> _“The dark consumes, shadows surround. Mask what you love with apathy._
> 
> _They call your name, don’t make a sound. And in their wake, calamity._
> 
> _Come seek its waters, the path through sand; your trials awaits, Mementos’ land.”_
> 
> _Told to me by a man who called himself Akira, after he vandalized a mural of my likeness and disappeared into the night. A tall tale, obviously, for no such place exists in my kingdom. But I would be remiss not to investigate anything connected to the rumored Shadow Sight, no matter how wild._
> 
> — Prince Akechi’s Private Notes. Dated the 5995th year of the God Masks, and the 43th year of the Shadow Sight

From the day he was born, Akechi was to be a legend. Oldest son of the Pharaoh, charm and popularity abound, what more did he need? No one even blinked when he tried on the God Mask Loki as a child, and as a result, it changed his eyes and solidified his legacy as their beloved and blessed Prince.

But all legends are greatly exaggerated. It’s a harsh and practical lesson that Goro learned when he was just a kid playing a game that would fundamentally alter the fabric of who he is.

Ah, but who’s paying attention. Better question, who would ever tell? Only two other people know the truth. One of them is his father. The other is dead.

But back to the story. His _ascension._ Did the God Mask spontaneously burst into flames when it touched his face? Or did Loki himself emerge from the mask, laughing at his arrogance as he changed the pigment of his eyes? Everyone has their own way of telling it. Their own way of taking the same basic claim and twisting it into an unrealistic and objectively false tale. And they only become more far fetched as they grew up with him.

He’s used to it now, but it’s still a strain on his sanity and the muscles in his face. Every time his smile starts to slip, his father bangs his staff against the ground as a reminder and the words ring in Goro’s ears: _appearances are everything._ How his father can even see out of his periphery when he’s got the God Mask Loki covering his eyes, Goro will never know. Maybe the mask has an extra perk besides granting blessings to the petitioners that kneel before them.

And thus the morning passes, Goro’s face and ears in pain, sitting in his throne beside his father’s, who monotonously delivers Loki’s blessings. The same, the same; it’s the same as every other day in the palace. The only thing that stops Goro from ignoring his father and just closing his eyes, is that after the petition line ends, Goro has plans. He doesn’t want to give his father an excuse to hold him up. For weeks, Goro has been tracking down the elusive vandals gaining recognition for defaming murals throughout the capital, and he has finally narrowed down the timeframe and location of their next target.

After he catches them, Goro wonders if he’ll finally be recognized for something he actually did, and not what the stories say about him.

Goro is out of his seat the moment the petition line ends, but he’s not fast enough to avoid his father’s harsh expression and demand for an explanation of Goro’s actions. The God Mask, which is more like a helmet, muffles his father’s voice, but the red glass covering his eyes does nothing to hide his irritation.

“I’ll be heading into the city today,” Goro says, as if it’s completely within his right to do so. It is, but his father does not always agree. “I’ve been investigating the Phantom Vandals, and I intend to arrest them today. Alone, I might add. Guards are not necessary.”

“Don’t degrade yourself running after fools, Akechi,” his father snaps. “Appearances are everything. Weakness and ignorance are not tolerated. I shouldn’t need to remind you of this.”

 _And yet you always do_. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Father, the people already love me.”

“If I wanted a bastard, Akechi, I would have given the princehood to someone else and kept you in your place.”

Akechi, Akechi, _Akechi._ Every sentence punctuated with the deadly reminder of who Goro is not. It’s exhausting. “Must we keep up this farce even while speaking in private, Father?” he asks. “Goro is fine…”

“I have no son by that name,” his father spits. “Only a boy who died at the hands of his foolish brother with ambitions to surpass his better blood.” He touches the front of the mask. Loki hums. “I gave you everything, Prince _Akechi._ Obey me, and behave.”

Once upon a time, Goro was made to play a game with the God Mask Loki. He won—or lost, depending on the perspective—and as a result, his existence as _Goro_ was swept under the rug and rewritten, because his father preferred to have his golden boy alive rather than dead and left with the one fated to be forgotten.

That’s how his story goes, and Goro is powerless to change a thing.

“Go forth, _Son,_ with my blessing.”

Loki’s power seeps forward from the mask, and Goro’s world blurs until all he can hear are his father’s cold words dictating the cruel reality of the matter.

“...For you would be nothing without it.”

* * *

Goro is restless after the morning petitions. It’s not boredom—though there’s certainly a bit of that—this is something else. An itch he can’t dislocate. One that grows worse as the sun goes down and the shadows dance over the walls of his bedroom. He tries to pass the time cleaning the mess he left earlier in the day, starting with the plain clothes he had thrown all over his bed. White short sleeves, seasonal, fashionable, but not recognizably noble. He shoves them to the back of his wardrobe. Appearances are everything.

Pacing doesn’t help either, despite how much his father seems to enjoy it. Doesn’t stop the itch or give Goro insight into why he prepared the clothes when he has no business out in the city, or why he left his notes scattered across the desk. He should throw them in the trash. He should file them away. Burn them to ash. He scans the page with indifference to decide which fate it deserves. 

‘Phandom Vandals at twilight,’ it reads. The paper trembles as he sets it down.

It’s not until a chime rings out to signal the approaching night that the gears suddenly settle back into place, momentarily dislodged and misaligned, because _what in the world_ is he doing pondering cleanliness when he needs to be chasing down the Phantom Vandals? Goro stumbles back towards the wardrobe, trading his fine robes for the ones he just put away, and leaves his jewels and crown behind.

The morning petitions were exhausting, sure, but wasting the entire afternoon loafing around? Honestly. 

There’s a bitter and metallic taste on his tongue as he races through the palace, but the fresh evening air revitalizes his heavy body, and his search begins in earnest.

The rise of the Phantom Vandals was meteoric. In part because of who they targeted, but more so because of their style. They’re known for smearing colorful and cryptic words of condemnation across posters that bear the likeness of the royal advisors, but it was not until they blinded a mural of the Pharaoh himself with the word ‘pride’ that they were fully recognized. His father didn’t permit an investigation—surprise, surprise—so Goro took it upon himself to catch the culprits and discover the truth behind their intentions and their target’s supposed crimes. 

And the truth, it seems, is still beyond his reach. 

Down the street are two vandals armed with brushes and paint, scoping out a mural of none other than Goro himself. 

It’s Goro’s most famous moment; his fabled ascension. Yet despite having occurred as a child, artists tend to render him through all stages of life, something that follows him through time. This one has decided to depict him in his current adult years, looking straight out at the observer, lips parted, eyes narrowed and serious, and wearing a gold necklace studded with rubies and bars of exotic colors. Hovering above his head in place of his crown is the pointed, black faceplate and pale red glass of Loki’s God Mask. One of Goro’s eyes is brown. The other is ablaze in fire whisked to the side, caught in mid-transformation.

Supposedly, of course. That’s not what actually happened, but since his father chose to hide the truth when the wrong son died, no one knows any better.

It’s a beautiful piece—compliments to the artist—but a bit too dramatic for Goro’s personal tastes. It’s certainly understandable why the phantoms chose this particular portrait if they were intent on targeting him. The vandal with bright yellow hair is busy rubbing dirt into Goro’s red eye, while the other vandal, dressed in gray with dark hair to match, paints a word across Goro’s lips, as if to stop him from speaking.

The word he paints is ‘justice.’

“My, isn’t this a sight?” Goro says, unable to hide his dry amusement. The vandals whirl around. “It’s one thing to create your own controversial piece,” he goes on as the vandal in gray drops the brush and shoves his hands into his pockets, “but to taint the essence of another man’s work? Truly, I have never seen anything like it.”

“It’s called realism, asshole,” the blonde spits. “Just my view of what our royalty is really like.” He cracks his knuckles, clothed in obnoxious bright yellow gloves to match the skull crudely drawn on the front of his shirt. “Touched by the gods my ass.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’ve changed the Prince’s eye color, then.” Goro taps a finger against his cheek. They clearly haven’t recognized him, and Goro is more than happy to continue to play the game. “An reasonable symbolic gesture, I suppose, given how shallow your creativity seems to run.”

Skull grumbles something rude, and Goro finds himself disappointed. He hadn’t expected a loud nobody with enough luck to avoid detection rather than because he possessed any kind of skill. The other vandal in gray is likely more of the same. Goro asks anyway. “And your motives? Why try to silence him?”

“It’s not about silencing him,” he says, slow and unconcerned. “Justice is about the truth. It’s something that needs to be spoken.”

“Don’t bother with him, man.” Skull nudges his accomplice’s arm. “He’s not gonna report us, else he wouldn’t have started talkin’ to us in the first place. ‘Less you don’t know how things run in these parts.” The vandal looks Goro up and down, observing, but still not seeing. “Maybe you should back off, outsider.” He takes a single step forward. 

Goro does the same, delighted and slightly astonished to be unrecognizable in his plain clothes and absence of wealth even when standing beside his own portrait. “Oh? Oh, _I’m_ an outsider? Honestly, I’m surprised you would think that.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean—”

“You shouldn’t do that anymore.”

It takes a moment to register that it’s the other one speaking now. The one that blends into the night while his vulgar friend takes center stage. Goro puts a hand on his hip and waits for him to say more. He doesn’t, and Goro grows tired of the silent staredown. “Excuse me?”

“That. What you’re doing to yourself,” he helpfully offers, then opens his eyes wide, like he’s looking past Goro and at something else entirely. “I can see it.”

“I’m sure I would appreciate your concern if it wasn’t so enigmatic,” Goro deflects from his sudden unease. He absolutely refuses to turn around; there is nothing over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. The Shadows aren’t there now,” the vandal assures with a smug expression. Mocking, even, while he spouts his nonsense.

“A real joker, are you? I can assure you, the Shadows are nothing more than a rumor.” A rumor that’s circulated since before Goro was born. It’s where you see benign shadows out of the corner of your eyes, but it’s just that; a rumor.

Skull scuffs his foot against the wall. “See? He’s one of them. Don’t even know or care ‘bout what’s going on.”

 _“Nothing_ is going on,” Goro stresses. “You should stop perpetuating lies that you know nothing about.”

Joker tilts his head to the side. “Really? You think it’s nothing? You’ve never wondered about what would make people stop caring about the world?” He looks at Goro expectantly, as if entitled to a proper response.

“Stop it, man.” Skull fidgets with his gloves. “If people don’t wanna hear it, they don’t hear it. People like him wouldn’t believe it, anyway.”

“You know, it’s rather difficult to have a conversation where one party talks in riddles and the other tries to cover it up.” Goro crosses his arms to control his restless fingers. “And here I thought we were starting to get to know each other.”

Joker smiles, and leans back against an unpainted portion of the wall. “I’m glad to hear it. I thought the same.” It’s damn near infuriating.

Goro clamps his fingers harder into his arms. “Well, you have my attention, whether or not your vulgar friend believes I would be interested—”

“—Whatever, man.”

“—So _please,_ put me out of my misery, and say whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

Joker takes a moment before responding this time. He looks at the mural, at Goro as its subject, to the paint and his word. He spares a glance towards the darkened sky. “What you’re doing is harmful and ineffective. There’s another way. It’s a pilgrimage, of sorts.”

Goro would laugh if he didn't fear losing control. “Pray tell, what is the name of this place?”

“It’s not for everyone.” Joker drops his voice to a whisper, and pushes off the wall. With every step he takes towards Goro, he weaves a mysterious riddle. “‘The dark consumes, shadows surround. Mask what you love with apathy. They call your name, don’t make a sound. And in their wake, calamity.’” He’s closer now, close enough for Goro to see the fire in his eyes. “‘Come seek its waters, the path through sand; your trials awaits; Mementos’ land.’”

The words linger on the air, grasping to be heard and understood. There’s a power there, lurking behind them, a mystery calling out to all who listen, but Goro can’t take it. Joker shattered the pretense of rational conversation himself, so why should Goro try and hold back anymore?

He tries to be delicate. It doesn’t work. His hand barely makes it to his mouth before he’s laughing into the stranger’s face to dispel the chill before it threatens to take over.

“I’m surprised you would be so bold as to lie to me,” Goro manages between breaths. His shaking is only partially from the laughter.

“The hell, you think you’re someone special?” Skull grounds his fists together.

“You could say that.” Goro sighs, finally satisfied knowing that this whole thing is nothing more than a prank. “Surely you’ve seen my likeness before, no?” Goro nods to the vandalized mural. The vandals study it. Compare it to what Goro is wearing now. Focus on his face. His red eyes. Goro pushes his bangs to the side to further emphasize his point.

Skull curses and runs off, but Joker doesn’t. Just takes one hand out of his pocket, gloved in a deep red, and places it across his stomach, bowing at the waist. “Prince.”

His tone is even more infuriating than that twist of his lips.

“Surely now you understand my surprise when you named a place that does not exist in my kingdom,” Goro says, grappling for the high ground once more.

“Guess I was mistaken, then.” Joker takes the other hand out of his pocket and pulls at the edge of his gloves, saying nothing more.

This… _this_ is exactly the type of person Goro expected the vandals to be. Quiet, thoughtful, and unbelievably full of himself. Watching with that arrogant know-it-all expression that begs for questions and explanations, but Goro refuses to give him the satisfaction.

It’s beyond comprehension.

Goro stares him down, dark hair, dark clothes, dark eyes, but with red gloves that drag your attention away from the dangerous parts of him. “It seems like we’re done here,” Goro says. “The guards will be here soon, and then you’ll be locked up and questioned. Maybe I can finally get you to open your mouth.”

“Sorry to say, but you’ll never catch me.” 

“Really?” Goro feels his lips stretching to the corners of his face. He gestures between the two of them. “And what would you say is happening here? I’d say you’re done. Case closed, vandal.”

“Whoa, scary.” Joker’s smiling too. “The name’s Akira, if you want to call me something.”

“That’s unlikely.”

Akira takes the rejection as a compliment, then packs up his brushes and paints, not even pretending like he will address any of Goro’s earlier questions. He didn’t seem to fall for Goro’s statement about the guards coming, which was an obvious bluff; right from the start, Goro intended to take care of this on his own.

“Leaving so soon?” Goro pitches his voice as sweetly as possible. “Nothing else you wanted to say? I’m right here in front of you, _Akira.”_

“Unfortunately, I have a reputation to maintain. Can’t be seen flirting with my targets, can I?”

“Can’t be— W-What?”

“Consider this your calling card,” Akira says, tapping the vandalized mural. The fresh paint stains his already red gloves a different shade. “You should know what it means now that I’ve tagged you.” He holds a clean finger to his lips, a whisper, a secret. A challenge. “I can’t wait to see what you do, Prince”

Akira disappears like the phantom he is, leaving Goro rooted in place by an absurd demand to speak justice, and words that are surely, _surely,_ just a diversion.

* * *

> _Blue light is said to be associated when invoking the God Masks. Reportedly, its lumosity is tied to the bearer’s emotional state and the strength of the mask. This has not been verified, as Loki hasn’t shown blue since before Shido became Pharaoh thirty eight years ago. Perhaps this is to be expected, for Loki is dated back to the start of the 5000’s._
> 
> _The Pharaoh is convinced that new masks can be created without waiting for a god to bestow them upon us. The research didn’t mention this. We must search harder for the Source._
> 
> — Wakaba Isshiki’s Research Notes. Dated the 5990th year of the God Masks, and the 38th year of the Shadow Sight

It was a setup. What other explanation is there? On the day Goro finally caught the Phantom Vandals—red-handed, as it were—not only had they targeted _him,_ but their leader made a demand of him without knowing who he was speaking to? Akira started talking about the Shadow Sight before Goro revealed his identity. Skull seemed truly shocked by Goro’s reveal. Akira didn’t show much of a reaction.

And, if Goro hadn’t met Akira at the mural, he would have no way of knowing what the word ‘justice’ means in this context. Not that he does anyway; Akira was tight-lipped, all smirks and shrugs, pretending to know all the secrets of the universe. But Akira underestimated him. Goro will grit his teeth and play along for now, and then throw whatever ‘justice’ Akira seeks right in his face. 

With more rumor than fact, Goro starts there. He turns to a trusted confidant, in fact, the one who offered Goro the first tip on the vandal’s case. The man calls himself Morgana, and in all the years since their meeting, he has never removed the black hood that hides his entire face, secured in place by a yellow tie.

The morning after Goro’s encounter with Akira, he finds Morgana in the city at his favorite fish vendor. After the pleasantries, Goro dives in. “I heard an unsettled rumor that I’d appreciate your opinion on.” Morgana takes a bite of fish and nods for Goro to continue. “It’s about the Shadow Sight.” 

Morgana hesitates, but nods again, more slowly this time. “What about it?” he asks, mouth full.

“It’s a name I heard. A place. Have you heard about Mementos?” Goro feels a little silly saying it, but if anyone can confirm or deny a rumor, it’s Morgana.

“No.” Morgana turns and walks away. 

“Well I have,” Goro says, realizing, begrudgingly, that Akira might have been onto something. He jogs behind Morgana to keep up. “Surprising, seeing as how I’ve never heard of it’s location, and your reaction to the name just now.”

“It’s a rumor, your Highness. It’s nothing more than that.” Morgana draws his hood tighter around his face.

“So, a rumor about a rumor? I’m sure that’s not it.” Goro finally catches up after dodging a few street vendors. “I’m following a lead. One that mentioned Mementos as being integral.”

“Are you saying that you acknowledge the Shadow Sight as being real?”

Goro hesitates. “I’m not sure,” he says. “But it seems that you do. And that this Mementos place is a well kept secret.”

Morgana picks another random street. “I-I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Though the histories make no record of it, two people—you make the third—have confirmed its existence. And if the location and the Shadow Sight are real, then I want to find it. This place might help.”

The wind starts to pick up and swirl around Goro’s feet. “I’ve known you for many years, your Highness,” Morgana says. “I know your intentions aren’t malicious. But the oasis… it’s not for everyone. I don’t want to spread false hope if you’re not prepared for its consequences.”

An oasis? Akira didn’t mention that.

Goro speaks louder to be heard over the wind, now aggressively tugging on his clothes. “Morgana, how can a place not be meant for everyone?”

“The journey is hard.”

“Then we send guards.”

“The task is physical.”

“Then we train our bodies!”

“The price of failure…” Morgana spins hard on his heel. “...is death!” A light pulses from under the hood, blue, as the wind tears through the street, owning the sound in Goro’s ears, preventing further questions from being asked or answered.

Death? No. There are no reported cases of unusual deaths related to the Shadow Sight. Goro would know. He spends time with the people of his country. He would know if something was afflicting them. 

But then, why risk the possibility of dying? Do people go to this place, this oasis Mementos, because they believe it is a better alternative to whatever is ailing them? 

If this is real… how many have traded their lives in this way? And how has Goro been so ignorant to it?

Morgana is gone by the time that sound returns to the street. In his place, is the long shadow of a figure clad in grey. Akira holds a gloved finger to his lips, and Goro remembers the word he painted there.

_Justice._

Enough. If the histories and Morgana refuse to indulge him, fine. But since Akira has taken to following Goro around gloating, then he’d better well be prepared to be hounded. 

Driven by frustration and a bit of desperation, Goro disregards all tact and caution and races towards Akira, not entirely sure what he’s going to do when he reaches him, but wiping the smirk off his face would be a good start. Goro’s about three strides away before Akira’s eyes widen and he turns to flee.

Good. It would be too easy if Akira stayed still. 

Akira leads him to a wide plaza, weaving through the crowds and vendors. No doubt Akira is more familiar with where he’s going than Goro, but Goro has a good sense of direction; drop him in the middle of the city blindfolded and he can find his way home. It helps that Akira isn’t trying hard to be stealthy. People curse and dodge out of the way, clearing a path for pursuit.

The crowd begins to thin, the streets narrow, and Goro closes the distance. Nothing will stand in the way of him and Akira and the truth he seeks. When Goro rounds the next corner, Akira has already come to a halt, facing the blank wall at the end of the alley. He turns around when Goro comes closer.

“Thought you said… I’d never catch you,” Goro says, his voice light and airy entirely by choice.

Akira’s smile says he knows better; his breathing hasn’t changed at all. “You haven’t, Prince. This is a gift.”

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s what I aim for.” Akira’s hand comes to rest on Goro’s chest to stop Goro from walking right into him and trapping him further against the wall. “And you, Prince?”

“My sole interest is uncovering the truth.” Goro holds Akira’s hand in place under his, and plays with the edge of the red glove. “That is what _I_ aim for.”

“The truth is not for everyone,” Akira says, sadly, and then he’s moving in close, eyes narrowed, watching, and Goro’s breath gets caughts in his throat when Akira speaks again and his lips brush against Goro’s mouth. “Not yet.”

Akira slips his hand back into his pocket, covered, like the rest of him, in dark clothes under the scorching sun, and Goro honestly can’t tell if Akira’s trying to hide something under the shadows his clothes cast, or if it’s for some kind of distraction.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to please you, Akira.”

Akira sucks in a quiet breath. Curious. Despite his confidence, he’s not the invincible rogue he pretends to be. Goro swipes a finger across Akira’s reddening cheek just to make a point. “Ah, so you’re human, after all,” he whispers. “Maybe the truth isn’t for you, either.”

Goro leaves before Akira can respond, wondering what in the world is wrong with himself.

* * *

Morgana refuses to speak about Mementos, no matter how many times Goro asks. Akira is unable to be found again, no matter how many times Goro looks, which is more times than he cares to admit. Goro taps his fingers against the arm of his throne. Today, they’re weighed down by enormous rubies, a familiar shade of red. He touches his lips absentmindedly.

‘Justice is something that needs to be spoken,’ Akira had said. Had _demanded_ of him, as if he had that right. Well, whether he had the right or not, it has permeated Goro’s life, an hourglass filling with sand and no indication of how quickly time is running out. He doesn’t know if Akira is working around a deadline, but Goro feels it, nonetheless. The truth is, he needs more information. 

After the last petitioner bows and departs, Goro dashes down the dias—with decorum, of course—before his father has a chance to admonish or lecture him. No doubt he’ll get that later. Goro catches up with the petitioner outside the throne room, and tries his best to seem approachable and pleasant despite having just chased them down. “Excuse me, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask a private question.”

The petitioner ducks their head. “Of course! Anything for our beloved Prince Akechi.”

Goro glances over his shoulder at his father. This will have to be quick.

“I… I heard a rumor the other day. About a place where people have been attempting to pilgrimage to. I’ve heard it’s a difficult journey, and the truth is… I don’t understand. I don’t understand why people would go if it’s so dangerous.”

An uneasy expression crosses the petitioner’s face. As expected. It’s the same as Morgana and Akira’s vulgar friend. This is exactly why Goro waited until the public displays had concluded.

His father begins his descent down the stairs.

“This must be difficult to speak about,” Goro says softly. “It’s personal, yes? But I want to know. I want to help.”

“It is difficult, your Highness, thank you for your patience. I’ve had family become…” They wring their hands together. “Become isolated and indifferent towards everything they once loved. And I’ve known others who have fled. They didn’t come back. They rarely do. But we’ve all heard it’s possible.”

“Where is it that they go?”

The tapping of his father’s staff comes closer.

“It’s an oasis out in the desert, your Highness. No one knows its location, but it’s said that if you listen, you can hear it calling. You only have to speak its name.”

“And its name is?” but Goro is already tracing it on his lips. 

_“Mementos.”_

Mementos. A word that has no meaning except to those who already understand what it is that’s being said.

The tapping stops. 

“Enough, Akechi.” His father pushes Goro aside and maneuvers closer to the petitioner. “I am disappointed that you cannot see the amount of stress you have placed on our guest. Guards, see to their every need. I shall retire now.”

There’s no time to thank the petitioner before they’re shepherded away. No time to apologize for the abrupt departure before his father gathers his advisors in quiet and tense conference. But with no one watching him anymore, there is enough time for him to slip from the hall.

* * *

Akira made Mementos sound like a sanctuary. Morgana made it sound like a last resort. The petitioner made it sound like a death sentence, for the friends and family of those involved. His father, for some reason, was disturbed. So much so that he didn’t give Goro his regularly scheduled _appearances-are-everything you’re-a-disappointment_ lecture. The last time Goro had seen him so angry was when his brother died.

Answers cannot be found in the palace, nor in the streets, so Goro returns to the spot where it all began. Even under the night sky, Goro can tell that the mud on the mural has since been cleaned off, and that ‘justice’ is starting to fade. 

It’s a contradiction. Goro wouldn’t purposefully cover up a lie. Yet the Phantom Vandals always call out corruption. So then, does Akira find Goro’s sense of justice to be lacking? Or does he think Goro will heed the call to change his own heart? To open his eyes to something unknown, something unseen?

Goro runs his hand across the mural, admiring the man who had become a legend when Goro knows he himself is nothing of the sort. The letters flake away under his fingertips, but their message remains, a permanent stain across his mouth. The lanterns that light the street flicker and dim.

_…Who are you?_

A darkness falls over the night, heavy and oppressive. It seeps into every nook, washes itself on every stone, and weighs in the air until Goro is left with nothing but the reflection of someone who lived and died by his side. Someone who excelled at everything, who played make believe with Goro as a child, and who utterly despised him. The mural’s eyes glow yellow, and his brother’s scream echoes through time.

Justice? No. Not what has been done to them. Nothing of the sort.

_…Do you wish to expose the injustices of the world?_

The darkness takes the sound next. It evaporates into nothing, leaving only a ringing behind. It plays tricks on his eyes, too; a shape comes into focus at the end of the street.

_...Will you simply let it end like this?_

The shape lurches forward, an amorphous pool of doubt and uncertainty swirling with fear and hate. On its face, glowing in the non-existence light of the night, is a white mask.

_...Find me, if this is not how you want your justice to end._

The voice is in his head, and the shadow is in his eye.

An ephemeral light phases into focus, forcing back the darkness from the immediate area. The light is too weak to stop the shadow’s advance, but it’s abrupt appearance gives Goro a chance to turn and run away; away to anywhere but here. Anywhere where the world is not closing in on him and his mind is not lost.

He runs to a plaza, devoid of human life but crawling with the shadows in white masks. Goro presses his back against a wall, trying to make himself small until he can find a way out of this nightmare.

Something grabs his arm. Heart in his throat, Goro whirls around, but it’s only Akira, standing there like a shadow himself but very tangible and very real. He splays his gloved fingers across his face, not touching it but touching _something,_ and blue light blossoms under his hand until Goro is forced to close his eyes from its brilliance.

The air buzzes, and shatters the silence. When Goro looks again, the oppressive darkness is gone, taking the shadows with it and leaving the night as it was. Akira is standing beside him, hands in his pockets, watching.

“What was that,” Goro croaks.

Akira doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. Goro only asked the question because he had forgotten who was with him. Akira wouldn’t tell him a damn thing even if his life depended on it. Which, as it turns out, is exactly what happened when the world filled with darkness and shadows and light. 

It’s too much. This day, this rumor, these… hallucinations. His shameful ignorance to the situation and the suffering of his people is so embarrassing it makes his eyes burn.

He grits his teeth and doesn’t turn around to address the footsteps that follow him back to the palace. “Thank you for your assistance, but if you’re going to maintain your silence, you can leave. I’m fine.”

“No need to put on a show, Prince. I saw. I know you’re not.”

Goro can hear it in his voice. The non-understanding. The pity.

“Stop it, Akira. You know nothing about me.”

Akira’s steps cease, and for the first time, Goro doesn’t regret it.

* * *

If he’s being honest, the histories are all Goro has ever had. His books have provided him with camaraderie and knowledge. The books are honest. They don’t push his buttons. Have never spoken words that make him want to shove them against the wall to devour them and to get away from them simultaneously. The books are kind and don’t make his head spin, so he sticks with the grounded world he knows.

First. There is no such place as Mementos. Since the God Mask Amon-Ra was created nearly six thousand years ago and modern civilization began, no such place has ever been recorded.

Second. The Shadow Sight is a rumor that his father despises. It was his first major crisis as Pharaoh, so he pushed it into the shadows until it became nothing more than that. He had a moment of redemption when he recovered the God Mask Satanael, which had been hidden for nearly the entire millenia, but then it was stolen, adding yet another blunder to his record. As a result, his father opened up the daily petitions and blessings to restore some faith to the people.

Third.

Third… Goro saw the world warp until nothing was left but yellow eyes and shadows. A glowing light emanated from his person, strong enough to force back the darkness that tried to consume him but not stop it completely. A voice cried out to ‘find me.’

It’s hard to accept. Goro was tired. He had been out all evening. It was a headache that made him see the unbelievable. Yet, he knows Akira was there touching his face as he glowed and the distortions disappeared.

Akira glowed _from his face._ From—well, there’s no other word to describe it—from a _mask,_ not unlike the ancient relics hanging in the palace. But there are only seven God Masks in existence. The five in the palace, and then the buried Messiah and the lost Satanael. The masks are creations of the gods themselves. It’s sacrilege to think there are more.

Goro flips through his notes and finds the one he wrote after meeting Akira. 

_The dark consumes, shadows surround. Mask what you love with apathy._

This aligns with what the petitioner told him about friends and families simply giving up. Akira hinted as much at their first encounter, too.

_They call your name, don’t make a sound. And in their wake, calamity._

That’s certainly an accurate depiction of what Goro saw the other night.

_Come seek its waters, the path through sand; your trials awaits, Mementos’ land._

The histories say that Mementos does not exist. His father says the Shadow Sight is a lie. But the nightmares in white masks are burned into Goro’s eyes, Morgana and the petitioner’s terrified words a verifiable fact, and Akira’s riddle a solid, inseparable line drawn between the two mysteries.

His books have nothing to say about this, but if Goro cannot deny the existence of one, he must hold the other to the same standard. He refuses to be biased and blinded by anything other than the truth.

* * *

Goro waits at the vandalized mural after it was restored. That was two days ago. He’s taken to rising early—primarily to avoid his father, but more importantly so he doesn’t miss his target—and he returns home long after the sun sets. He’ll wait for however long it takes, because despite the artists’ best attempts at a restoration, Goro knows the blank state won’t last for long.

On the third day, the familiar red gloves finally show themselves. 

“Hey. Long time no see.”

Akira doesn’t look entirely surprised. More pleased, if anything. He twists a strand of hair between his gloved fingers. “How’d you know I’d come back?” 

Goro shrugs. “A thief always returns to the scene of the crime. Or, a vandal in this case.”

“You weren’t wrong,” Akira says, pulling a paintbrush from the depths of his robe. “I wanted to make a lasting impression.”

“It worked,” Goro admits with a sigh. “Now, haven’t we had enough of this running around? Let’s talk.”

“Sorry, no can do. I’m pretty sure the rules say you have to catch me first, Prince.”

Goro strides forward, as close to Akira as the space allows without actually touching him. “I think I already have,” he whispers, and he knows it’s true; the way Akira’s eyes dart over Goro’s face and settle on his mouth is all the confirmation needed to know that the feeling is mutual.

“Huh. Would you look at that? Guess you did.” Akira tucks the paintbrush back into his pocket and curls a finger instructing Goro to follow.

Their destination is ordinary. Surprisingly so. Goro had imagined graffitied walls or extravagant coverings, or even a little garden. From the outside, Akira’s house is that of a perfectly ordinary citizen, even though Goro knows him to be nothing of the sort.

Akira kicks off his boots, then throws his robe across the back of a chair. Goro does the same, and turns around in time to see Akira stretch his arms over his head, and his gray sleeveless garment creep up his midriff.

Goro clears his throat and picks the first topic that hopefully has nothing to do with clothes. “Do you not trust the cleanliness of our own home?” Not great, but he can recover. Akira looks puzzled, as he should with Goro’s nonsensical segue, so Goro nods to Akira’s hands. Even now, he keeps the gloves on. At first, Goro thought they were for show, to capture attention. Then, he thought that Akira just didn’t care, not making a statement statement enough itself. But he’s always pulling them down, always securing them in place. It’s hypnotic.

And then Akira’s gloved hands are right beside Goro’s face, palms open, and Akira is in his face too, with his eyes unusually wide like the first time they met. “It looks like you’re feeling better,” he says instead of answering.

“You can tell from just looking?”

“Well, your face has some color again.” Akira chuckles. “Maybe a little too much red. But, yeah. I can tell just from looking.”

Ah, that’s unfortunately a fair assessment. Goro pushes down the burning of his cheeks. _Get yourself under control._ “And what is it that you see, Akira? How could you tell that I was susceptible to the Shadow Sight before I knew it myself?”

“It’s like…” Akira rolls his wrist. “A glow. I can tell if you’re safe or susceptible, as you put it, or if you’ve forged a bond in Mementos. Those people glow blue.”

“I can only imagine what the world must look like through your eyes,” Goro scoffs. “But you told me I shouldn’t ‘do that’ anymore when we first met. What was ‘that?’”

Akira frowns, and tugs on his gloves. Mesmerizing. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Normally, your aura is green, but that day it was laced with black. I’ve seen that in other people, too. It’s gone now.”

Yet another mystery to add to his growing list of oversight. Another rumor that’s not a rumor. It’s all a calamity waiting to happen. 

“What about Mementos?” Goro asks, remembering the verse. “If you go there, you’ll… you’ll what, get a blue aura and glow from your face to make the Shadows disappear?”

“That’s a bit exaggerated…”

“No kidding,” Goro scoffs. “But isn’t everything? That I, the supposed Prince of the country have no idea what’s happening to its people? That I have let my people suffer in ignorance?” It’s irritating that he has no answers. Embarrassing that he’s been completely in the dark his entire life. “It’s no wonder you painted my mural the way you did, Akira. It’s because my justice is false.”

“That’s not it. I thought you might eventually see the truth.”

“I’m blinded by everything but the truth,” Goro says with a bitter laugh.

“Calm down, Prince.” Akira tries to catch Goro’s hands as they come up to cover his face.

“Please don’t treat me like a child throwing a tantrum.” Goro shakes his hands free, and slumps into a chair and runs his hands through his hair, knowing he is definitely overreacting. He takes a deep breath. “Did you have a backup plan, or did you gamble all your cards on me?”

Akira is silent. 

“Akira?” Goro repeats the question. 

“I have a backup plan,” Akira says. “But I don’t know if it would work.” He moves to an ornate bench and withdraws an object wrapped in a worn cloth. “I thought I could use you. Before I knew anything about you, the one thing that stood out was you weren’t as arrogant or selfish as your father. You’ve done the best you can given the infectious and poisonous life in that palace. I thought I could get you interested in the Shadow Sight, and then you’d take the journey and come back with a power to help us.” Akira’s hands start to tremble. “But, I think I made a mistake, Prince. I don’t want you to suffer like me without having a say in the matter. So instead…” He unwraps the cloth. “This is my backup plan.”

Goro is out of the chair and grabbing the bundle before Akira finishes unwrapping it. “This… This is…! Please tell me how you of all people got this?”

“‘Me of all people?’ What does that mean?” 

_“You_ are not the Pharaoh or the Prince, Akira, therefore _you_ should not have the God Mask of Vengeance, Satanael tucked away in a box in your bedroom!” 

The pattern around the eyes, the ornate edges, the old and worn texture. Goro has never seen the real mask, but it’s weight is the same as Loki when he held it as a child. Power tingles the palms of his hands. This is undeniably the real thing.

_…Do you seek the power to call your own?_

“If you think I stole it,” Akira says slowly, “I’ll remind you that it was taken before I was born, Prince. Besides, I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t a fake. Your reaction just confirmed it isn’t.”

“You cannot have this, Akira.”

“And why not? I’ve seen too many of my friends and neighbors stop caring or run off into the desert to make the impossible journey to know that the Pharaoh has not done enough. We are trying to survive.”

“By hoarding stolen treasures? What if someone got this who couldn’t wield it? What if they could! Imagine the destruction they could inadvertently cause. It’s dangerous.” Goro narrows his eyes. “Can you wield it? Have you tried?”

“I haven’t.”

“Good. I don’t know what you were thinking showing me this, Akira. But I’m glad you did. I’m taking this back to where it belongs.”

“‘What I was thinking?’ I wanted to show you your justice!” Akira cries. “That’s why I painted your mouth with the word. Because I thought you were capable of it, and of setting us free. You deserve better than to be a pawn, used and cast away. That’s all you are to the Pharaoh. To be honest, that’s what I thought of you at first, but you’re also curious and caring, and I was wrong to think of you otherwise. I didn’t know the real you, but I feel like I’m finally starting to.” His fingers twitch by his side. “Was I wrong to believe that?”

This isn’t right. Akira with Satanael, asking Goro to effectively defy his father and use Satanael himself to try and save the people. But if it helps, does it really matter how he got there? Goro has seen what wearing the God Mask Loki has done to his father. How it makes him anxious that someone will come along and take all that he has. The paranoia that controls him and seems to get worse the longer he wears the mask. Who’s to say the same wouldn’t happen to Goro? Goro was able to wear Loki, but who’s to say that Satanael wouldn’t kill him?

Shouldn’t he try? Shouldn’t he fight? 

_…Find me._

“Was I wrong, Prince?”

_…Find me. Find me._

_Find me—_

Goro shakes his head, clutching the mask to his chest, anything to stay grounded. Akira sighs, defeated, resigned. He puts a hand over his eyes. Blue light radiates from under his fingers, and an object shifts into existence. A mask. White, rimmed around the eyes with black spikes. It’s solid. As solid as the God Mask that Goro still holds in his hands. 

Akira rips it off his face. Flames engulf the room, and then Goro is seeing black.

* * *

> _It was a game. I shouldn’t have played. I didn’t want to. I told him I didn’t want to. But I wanted to make him happy. And now, brother is…_
> 
> _Father gave me some things today. A crown and a name. He put the crown on my head, and then he called me Son._
> 
> — ~~Goro~~ Akechi’s Diary. Dated the 5975 year of the God Masks, and the 23th year of the Shadow Sight

The dream is the same. A perfect reenactment of that imperfect day. Except instead of being in the spotlight himself, Goro is forced to watch as an observer.

The first actor to take the stage is himself, eight years old, wrapped in golden silks, alongside the star of the show, his brother. The scene is a game of ‘Pharaoh and Commoner,’ under the condition that Goro never plays as Pharaoh; that role is reserved for the star.

Out of all Goro’s brothers, Akechi was the oldest and the one their father loved the most, but there was nothing golden about his golden boy. Akechi’s hair was brown, his eyes too, and he was cruel. He didn’t care about the legends or the people; Akechi only cared about himself.

The stage is illuminated, and the play begins the same way it always has.

“Hey, Goro. If you give me a boost, I bet I can reach the masks.”

The Goro in the play complies, because he loves his brother. The Goro watching cries for him to disobey.

“You take Loki’s mask,” Akechi says. “And I’ll be Satan.”

“Satanael is lost,” Goro reminds him. “It was stolen when Father became Pharaoh. He gets angry when people remind him.”

“But Father has five other masks. What does it matter to him?”

“It’s a show of weakness. The God Masks are the cornerstones of our kingdom,” Goro explains. “Amen Ra, Apollo, the buried Messiah, Izanagi-no-Okami and the torn Magatsu-Izanagi, they’re all—”

Akechi clicks his tongue. “Come on, you know I don’t care. I wanna play! Run around a little, and then I’ll swoop in and stop you.” He shoves Loki’s mask towards Goro’s face, but pauses when Goro recoils. “What’s wrong? Don’t you wanna try it on?”

“I might die, Akechi. Father said never to wear them.”

“Father said, sure, but we’re special too. The power runs in our blood, right? If Father can wear the God Masks, so can you.” Something comes over Akechi in that moment. Something ugly that lives behind his narrowed brown eyes and that condescending expression. It takes over the appearance of a perfect son, but this was always Akechi’s true self. “Unless you’re afraid you’re not really Father’s son. Worried about the rumors? That your eyes are red cause your blood’s not the same as ours? Guess that’s why you’re kept hidden away all the time, Bastard.”

_Stop while you can. You’ll only lead him on if you comply. You’ll make him jealous. Don’t try on the mask. Don't let him ruin your lives._

Goro tries on the mask because he loves his brother.

The world under the mask was tinted through the red plated glass. Vibrant. More lively. Energy surged through Goro’s body, and whispered into his mind was an invitation to seek the truth, to ‘find’ someone. He could almost taste the name upon his lips.

“Huh. Guess you’re really one of us after all.” Akechi yanks the mask from Goro’s head, disappointed. He considers throwing it to the side, but one look at Goro and he changes his mind. The evil returns; it never left. 

“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” Akechi shrugs, closing in on Goro, poisoning him like he always does. “You’re never going to be named Prince. And if you can’t be Prince, you’ll never be Pharaoh. You won’t own anything. Not this power, and especially not anything of worth. No one will care about you. Sorry baby brother, but you’re just not good enough for this world.” He kisses Goro on the cheek, before holding the mask over his own head. “But it’s okay Goro. I still love you.”

The scene plays out like it always does. A nightmare unable to be purged from the back of Goro’s eyelids or his subconscious mind no matter how many times he begs and cries and tries: Akechi dies in agony the moment the God Mask Loki touches his face.

* * *

Goro wakes screaming. 

Something is weighing him down, repressing him, controlling him. Keeping him in his place as it has since he was given his dead brother’s name. The scene repeats in his mind over and over again, until a repeated phrase floats through chaos; one that has no place in his nightmares.

“It’s alright, you’re okay.”

His thrashing slows. When his vision returns, he finds Akira restraining his arms and legs with his. 

“Just a dream,” Goro rasps.

“Some dream.” Akira brushes back the damp hair from Goro’s face. “You really scared me, Prince. You, uh, passed out earlier. I didn’t hurt you, I just wanted to show you my power and I… got carried away. I got you onto the bed, but I didn’t know how to help. You were crying.” His thumbs move idly across Goro’s cheeks.

“Like I said… bad dream,” Goro mumbles, closing his eyes and resting back against the pillow. The motion from Akira’s fingers helps to calm his racing heart until he realizes that Akira is still on top of him. His pulse picks up again.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Akira…”

“We keep dancing around each other.” Akira whispers. “Is that enough for you?”

Goro can’t bring himself to open his eyes. Just moment ago, they were at each other’s throats shouting about damned historical artifacts, but the perpetual undercurrent runs strong and clear, laced through every encounter from when Akira painted ‘justice’ across Goro’s mural, to when Akira’s face lit up and he dispelled the distortions that came to take them. It’s always there. All Goro wanted was the truth. But it’s not that easy.

“Come on, Prince. Tell me it’s not enough.”

Akira has known exactly what to say and how to say it in order to get a rise out of Goro. He saw Goro, and demanded that Goro see him back. Goro wants to. He’s been trying. But what if what he sees challenges everything he has ever known? 

Hah. Funny. Hasn’t it already? There’s no going back. He doesn’t even want to anymore.

“It’s not enough.”

Akira smiles when Goro finally looks, a wicked glint with a hunger lurking just behind his eyes. He traces the edge of Goro’s mouth with those long fingers that make you imagine just what they could do if he were to take off his gloves— 

“Your hands!” Goro tries to sit up and grab Akira’s gloveless wrists, but with Akira’s full weight on top of him, his hips go up and straight into Akira, but Goro sets aside his drive for one singular, solitary moment and focuses on the impossible sight before him. Goro maneuvers himself into a sitting position, and Akira reluctantly lets him. “What happened?”

“...Burnt them.”

“An accident?”

“Not exactly,” Akira answers. “I knew what I was doing. Just… not the consequences.” He absently rubs his wrists, then slowly, almost hesitantly, extends a hand for Goro’s examination.

Akira’s hands are dark. Not exactly burned as expected, but the skin is smoky with red veins swirling across his palms and around his fingers. It’s completely smooth, not even raised. Goro carefully places his palm against Akira’s, sliding them together and over each other, entranced by the way they feel, the visual discrepancy between sight and touch. He lets his fingers slip between Akira’s, running them up and down until they lace together of their own accord. 

The distortion of skin stops precisely at the wrist, a curious and clean dividing line between some pained event in Akira’s past. The gloves must have been tailored exactly for him. Goro rubs a thumb across the divide, brushing from the scar to the healthy, and Akira shivers.

“Did that hurt?”

“Startled me. Can’t feel much on the burns themselves. I haven’t felt much of what you’ve been doing, to be honest. But… just cause my hands can’t feel, doesn’t mean I’m fragile, Prince.”

“Fragile is not a word I’d ever use to describe you, Akira.”

“Oh?” Akira leans forward, curious. “How would you do it, then?”

“I’d say you’re mysterious. Arrogant.” Goro rests their joined hands on the bed and puts his other on Akira’s thigh. “Cocky.”

Akira laughs, and the vibrations from his voice hit home. “Sounds about right. Tell me more.”

“Self-centered, since you like hearing about yourself so much.”

“Maybe I just like to hear you talk. You have a nice voice,” Akira says with hazy eyes.

“Well then, I’ll continue.” Goro moves from Akira’s thigh to his hip, and rests his other hand on Akira’s chest. His shirt is like silk under his fingers. “You’re a bit careless, letting yourself get caught by me all the time. But you’ve proven to be thoughtful, so there was likely a reason for what happened to your hands.”

“There was,” Akira mumbles.

“Heard enough about yourself yet?” Goro whispers. “I can talk about other things too. Like how every time you look at me like that, I don’t know what I’m going to do next. Even when we met and you were painting my mouth, I couldn’t stop from imagining if you had me under your hands, instead.”

“Prince…”

Goro curls a hand around the back of Akira’s neck. “And whenever you touch your lips with your gloves, I want to tear them off with my teeth.”

Akira growls and buries his face in Goro’s shoulder. “Aren’t you tired of talking yet?” His voice comes out muffled, but then he turns towards Goro’s ear and everything is crystal clear. “I said I like your voice, yeah, but I’d love to hear it making other noises, too.” He pushes himself forward, bringing their bodies together even though their legs are in the way, and Goro gasps. “I knew it,” Akira hums darkly. “Beautiful.”

The teasing and taunting are done and gone, and left is nothing but the air between their lips, and even that becomes sparse with how quickly they open their mouths for each other. Akira pushes Goro back against the headboard of the bed and tries to climb on top without breaking their connection, but they can’t give up one without the other. Akira grunts in frustration before breaking their kiss, and once he’s properly settled in Goro’s lap, continues where they left off.

They move hard and fast, always wanting more, always finding more, Goro leaving marks on Akira’s neck, and Akira’s nails leaving scratches up and down Goro’s spine. Akira tightens his legs around Goro’s waist and angles himself down to grind together between the thin fabric of their pants that have no right to be on either of them anymore.

“Ah-A-Akira—” 

“Mmm, delicious, Prince. Will you sing some more for me?”

Goro cries out again when something cool slips under his waistband and wraps around him. He closes his eyes when he starts seeing stars, but Akira demands his attention with a squeeze, and Goro’s eyes snap open to find Akira smirking in that way he has come to know so well. Goro reaches out to trace Akira’s lips, wet and puffy, and pulls down on the lower. When Akira strokes again, Goro reaches out further, and his fingers disappear into Akira’s mouth. Akira closes his lips and swirls his tongue, and Goro’s throat constricts as he watches, entranced by the act and its implications.

Akira goes faster now, his hand and his mouth moving in a synchronous rhythm that has Goro losing his mind and his voice and grasping at any part of Akira he can reach. He pulls his wet fingers from Akira’s mouth and reaches into Akira’s pants to return to the favor and do _something_ because he is going to lose himself completely if he doesn’t, and Akira is saying Goro’s name now too, and—

He freezes. No. It’s not _his_ name. It’s the name of his brother. His masquerade. 

_Akechi._

It doesn’t sound right, not coming from Akira.

Akira immediately pulls his hand from Goro’s pants. “I’m sor—” 

“No. No, Akira, this is not your fault,” Goro assures with a kiss, but Akira’s hesitating now. “You saying my name surprised me, is all,” he says, lamely.

Akira climbs off and holds a hand discretely over his lap. “Why don’t we—” Akira clears his throat. “Why don’t we take a break for now? You did faint earlier.”

 _Accept the offer with grace,_ Goro thinks. _Be thankful he still wants to see you after you ruined this._

“Why don’t you visit me, next time.”

“In the palace?”

“Surely, a phantom such as yourself can sneak past a few dozen of the best trained guards in the country?”

Akira lifts an eyebrow. “And when I find you?”

“I’ll catch you, of course. And then we’ll see what happens.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No,” Goro says with a kiss. “It’s a promise.” 

* * *

> _On the eve of my ascension to Pharaoh, my advisors came to me with a warning of something amiss in my lands. They’re calling it the Shadow Sight. Disgusting. A wretched stain on my reputation. Loki will be suitable for subduing the public on this matter; preliminary experiments have shown this God Mask to temporarily subdue the apathetic symptoms by imposing my own voice in their head._
> 
> _In other news, the queen regent is pregnant. Let’s hope she produces at least one good heir over the years._
> 
> — Pharaoh Shido’s Private Notes. Dated the 5952 year of the God Masks

Goro doesn’t leave the palace for days. It might even be a month. Not that it really matters. He got out of his required attendance at the daily petitions after sighing loudly and pointedly looking anywhere but where he should. His father takes Goro’s change of countenance well; he locks all the doors to the palace and increases guard duty, day and night.

That’s fine too. Goro was right about nothing stopping Akira. He deftly avoided the guards on the palace grounds, and after a few false starts, found Goro’s room. Akira kept his gloves on until Goro took them off with his teeth. 

Thus pass his nights. 

During the day, Goro studies the histories and lingers in the throne room when it’s unoccupied to study the masks, in particular, the empty spot for Satanael. Other than Satanael, the only other God Mask not to live in the palace is Messiah, buried in the tomb of an ancient Pharaoh.

Goro let Akira keep Satanael for now. There’s no telling what his father would do if he recovered it again. Once, Goro would have happily turned over the mask without a second thought, but now, Goro can no longer follow blindly. He wonders why he ever did. 

His continued presence in the throne room doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“What’s gotten you so interested in the God Masks, Prince Akechi?” He thinks this advisor is called Okumura, but the name the Phantom Vandals gave him suits him better. “Not thinking about trying on another, are you?”

“Oh no, nothing of the sort. Only trying to understand them better. Perhaps I’ll rotate between wearing them when I become Pharaoh.” Greed’s eye twitches. “I’m sure the others are jealous of Loki sitting on my father’s head all the time. And since he doesn’t use them, it’s possible that they have different strengths. For instance, Izanagi-no-Okami may share similar properties as its rival, Magatsu-Izanagi.”

“Curious, indeed,” Greed says, sounding anything but.

“Quite. I think it’s important to explore these possibilities since my father has been negligent. There are many questions he has left unanswered. How they hold their corporeal form; why they glow blue; why the power kills some but not others. It requires a true scholarly examination, not a cursory glance.”

Instead of another poor attempt to conceal his resentment, Greed stands up straighter. “Your highness, I believe advisor Isshiki would know more about this topic. Shall we go to her?”

Most of Goro’s history lessons had been with Isshiki, and if he’s learned anything, it is that she is not one for idle talk or improper etiquette, but Greed is already urging Goro to follow. Well, perhaps Goro can get some real answers from her today. He cautiously peers inside her study when Greed barges in.

“Prince Akechi was studying the God Masks in the throne room,” Greed says, as if that will sooth her icy glare. “He has some interesting theories and questions.” He looks at Goro to take over.

“Ah, yes. I was just thinking about the many mysteries surrounding the masks, such as why it seems to have resonated with my father and I, in particular.”

“You had another question too, didn’t you, your Highness?” Greed encourages. “Go on, say them again. I’m sure the advisor is just as curious.” 

Isshiki raises an eyebrow. “Yes…” Goro says again, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with their adamant attention. “Other questions about their composition and the way they emit a light from within themselves. There are many things we can learn from the relics if my father didn’t hoard them or forbid anyone else to touch them, even myself.”

“You were right to bring him here, advisor Okumura,” Isshiki says immediately. “I’m more than happy to indulge in an ad-hoc history lesson.” She gives Greed a pointed look, and he scuttles out of the room, leaving Goro to his teacher.

“Where shall we start, the beginning? I’ve already taught you the creation stories, but a reminder won’t hurt,” Isshiki says. “Nearly six thousand years ago, the Great Gods and Goddesses looked down upon this land and gifted it with powerful artifacts. The God Masks are imbued with only a fraction of their power, and have been entrusted to those who are worthy. 

“The power is not free, of course. The price is in our bones and blood and minds. But any fool with enough stamina, blood, and airheadedness can call upon creation. That’s why the Source is protected, and the Trial, a true test of your essence.” She narrows her eyes. “Oh, did you not realize that, your Highness?”

“The histories I have been told do not describe the creation process,” Goro bristles. “As you well know, since you were my teacher.”

“This is a hard truth, your Highness. One that must be carefully guarded. You were not ready, but since you are finally asking the right questions, I believe it is time to tell you everything. Are you ready?”

What is happening? Is Isshiki really admitting to withholding history from him? What is so special about the questions he asked today?

“The Source is not common knowledge,” Isshiki reiterates. “Otherwise common folk would seek its waters when it should be reserved for great rulers.”

_Come seek its water, the path through sand._

“It is also a lost part of our history,” she continues, “thus it is mostly hearsay. However, if the pattern follows, a new God Mask is created every one thousand years. The Gods bless us, but it is _man_ who takes the power. And that is why sometimes two masks are forged, like Izanagi-no-Okami and Magatsu-Izanagi, and more recently, Loki and Satanael. Two warring rulers staking a claim for the power of the gods for themselves.”

“Are you implying, Isshiki, that the Gods do not control the creation process of the God Masks, as we have been taught?” Does this mean that the mask Akira ripped from his face is the same as the God Masks hanging in the palace? “Is the teacher to blame for their perpetuation of false narratives?” Goro asks, bitterly. “Or does blame fall upon the student for not realizing their own ignorance?”

“The fault does not lie with the teacher.” Isshiki turns away from Goro and bows when his father enters the room, flanked by Greed, Vanity, and Gluttony. “It was a deliberate and conscientious decision to withhold information that would lead to a mass panic.”

“Sounds like a coverup,” Goro accuses, finally seeing the truth behind the words Akira painted of his father and his ilk. “A conspiracy led by a ruler hoarding power by keeping secrets, afraid he might be challenged. Keep it all to yourself, lest you damage your _pride.”_

“Come now, boy, stop grasping at sand. It will simply slip through your fingers.”

“Then I shall have to inform myself, Father, because the people of this country seem to know more than their Prince.”

His father stands to his full height. Loki’s edges and horns send sharp shadows across the room. “And what knowledge did you glean from these ‘people,’ boy? Did they tell you about the Oasis? Did you learn about the light from them too?”

Goro says nothing, not yet understanding the game. 

“Light hasn’t been seen from Loki and the other God Masks in centuries,” his father says. “And because of your… negligence, of your studies, you would not have learned it there either. Yet you speak as if you have first hand experience. Something you’ve seen with your own eyes?”

Shit. 

“If he has seen the blue light, then Mementos has at last been found,” Vanity mutters. “A new mask can finally be forged for the Pharaoh, and others distributed amongst ourselves.”

“We can stop repairing the torn Magatsu-Izanagi,” Gluttony agrees. “And cease the excavation of Messiah.”

‘Power and control cannot be what the masks are made for.’

The words don’t leave his throat. Goro can barely open his mouth. He sways to the side, fighting to keep his eyes open, until the floor rises up to meet him and his cheek rests against the cold stone floor. A pressure forces its way into his mind, pushing him into darkness, malleable and pliable in someone else’s hands.

“Help us, Akechi.” He can’t see his father anymore. “We must find Mementos.”

The darkness presses harder. It’s not the same as the absence of sight and sound from when the Shadows found him. That was an external sensory deprivation. This will quickly consume his entire being.

“The people need you. They respect you. They love you. Go to them, and discover their secrets.”

A small force tries to stand its ground. It’s faint, hardly able to maintain its radiance, but it uses its small might to try and dispel the invading thoughts and desires.

“Do you hear me, boy?”

The force can’t do much on its own. Goro never could. He’s worthless as he is. Appearances are everything, and that’s all Goro has ever had to offer. His red eyes afforded him a legacy curated by his father to use as he pleases. Goro is nothing. Obey, and receive salvation and blessings from his father.

“Akechi!” A hand slaps his face. “Goro. Prince Goro. You will do the work of the people, right? Do it for them, and they will recognize you as who you really are. Isn’t that what you want? What you’ve always wanted?”

Goro moves his mouth. He might even speak, and the space fills with laughter at his response. Delight. Somehow he stands and drags his feet against the ground until he falls upon something soft. 

The chance for recognition. All he has to do is obey. Find the secret of the people, and tell his father. That’s all. It’s so easy. Then he can finally be himself. 

He curls up on his bed, happy to comply and rest for now. Eventually something shakes his arm. Goro rolls over. The shaking doesn’t stop. Irritated, he tries to swat it away.

“Prince, can you hear me? Do you recognize me?”

The tiny force trying to protect Goro is joined by another. Brighter, and with more strength and resolve to keep a consistent glow and shield.

“Prince! I’m here for you! Listen to my voice. We’ll fight this together!”

Goro’s light grows stronger too, amplified by the support, until his eyes are open and unclouded, and finally he can once more think for himself. 

* * *

> _‘How much will you give up? How far will you go? Can you acknowledge yourself after seeing what you’ve become?’_
> 
> _You’ll be asked these questions. You’ll be faced with these decisions. If you can’t answer, you’ll die. If you give in to the visions, you’ll be lost. Listen to your heart, and stay strong._
> 
> — Morgana’s Letter to Akira. Dated the 5977 year of the God Masks, and the 25th year of the Shadow Sight

When Goro could stand, Akira snuck him past the guards. The Shadow Sight tried to come for him, more aggressive than before, sensing Goro’s weakness, but Akira’s light held them at bay. Safe in Akira’s home, they slept until morning.

 _Find Mementos,_ his father had commanded. Not for Goro to heal the people; empathy is beyond his father’s sight. Yet, if Goro refuses the journey, the Shadow Sight will slowly drain him of who he is and what he loves.

There really is no choice. Akira’s face is a grim reflection of his own.

“The journey is different for everyone,” Akira explains. “The path you walk changes, and so do the distortions you see. You can draw on the strength of your bonds, but no one can come with you. After facing three trials, the sand grows coarse until the oasis reveals itself. Wade into the water to the raised pedestal at the center. Look inside the bowl, and then…” he trails off. “You come home with a mask.”

“A mask?”

Akira’s face erupts into light. “Arsene.”

“Is it real?”

“If you mean, is it a real God Mask? Yeah, it’s mine. I created it.” The mask disappears with another touch of his face. “So. What will you do, Prince? When you come back with a God Mask of your own that can keep the Shadow Sight at bay, how will you use that power?”

 _Who will you betray?_ That’s what he’s really asking.

Goro shakes his head. “Tomorrow, please. I don’t want to think for a while.” Not about how his father constantly uses him, hates him. How his entire life is a lie. “I want to…” He licks his lips. “Akira, can you call me something else?”

“Does Master suit you better?”

“Hah, maybe… but first… can you call me Goro?”

“Goro…” Akira rolls it around on his tongue. “For some reason, it suits you better.” 

It does, doesn’t it? Because that is who he is, unabashed and unmarred by a legacy that is not his own; a name spoken not under a guise of intimidation and manipulation; a name unspoken by anyone who ever loved him.

“Is that okay?” Goro nods as Akira wipes away his silent tears. “Good. Because for how much I enjoy calling you Prince, I’ve been imagining what it’s like to call your name, and, uh, not have you get upset about it.”

Goro remembers all too well. “Akira. If you call my name, I will match you in volume and double the enthusiasm.”

“Oh? Is that a challenge, Goro?”

“No. It’s a promise.”

At first, it’s a contest for who can hold out longer. Goro pushes Akira back on the bed and tears off his shirt, trailing his lips down Akira’s neck and along his side, kissing and sucking and leaving marks where he can. It’s enough to make Akira cover his mouth with his hand, but not enough to break. But when Akira scrapes the inside of Goro’s thigh with his fingers and then his tongue, the first round is quickly decided.

Akira has a unique advantage for the second round, too: his mouth is occupied. Meanwhile, Goro’s is left open at the way Akira moves over him with his lips and his throat. Akira matches the moans Goro makes this time, sending vibrations through his entire body. Akira wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes hooded and dark, and then slips a finger into his own mouth, and then behind himself.

The game is forgotten after that. Goro picks up where Akira left off, using more fingers and draws out more breathless sighs and nonsensical but wonderful sounds when Goro curls his fingers in just the right way.

And then Akira cries his name, grasping for purchase at whatever he can find when Goro is on top of him; his hips, his hair, and settles on digging his fingers into his back to urge him on, to make Goro move faster and deeper, desperate to be closer until Goro is completely inside. Sweat stings his eyes, but Goro dare not close them and miss the sight of Akira losing his mind, his head thrown back into the pillow elongating his neck with Goro’s earlier handiwork, his eyelashes fluttering to an uncontrollable rhythm. Goro moves faster, all words and sense exhausted and lost except for the beautiful name he sings over and over again— “Akira, Akira, Akira!—” until a shock rolls through his skin, his veins, and he gasps for air and for sanity and for Akira as he comes, and Akira raises his body to match, the sound of their names and voices filling the room until their throats are dry. They collapse into each other, exhausted, spent, and with no other desire than to curl together and fall asleep, for a time, pretending that they can have everything, just like this.

* * *

> _You don’t seem like the love letter type, so this isn’t a love letter. It’s just a letter that happens to be written to the person I like a lot. Yeah._
> 
> _There’s a lot I should apologize for, but you know that’s not my style. There’s a lot I refuse to apologize for, like pulling you into all of this by targeting you in the first place. I kept a lot from you, but now I’ve told you everything. Almost. When you look into the pedestal at the oasis, you’ll know what to do, and I think you’ll get why I couldn’t say more._
> 
> _I’m not a master tailor, but when you come back, I’ll have something for you to cover them up._
> 
> — Akira’s Letter to Goro. Dated the 5995 year of the God Masks, and the 43th year of the Shadow Sight

Morning comes, and even though Akira is still in his arms, there’s only time for a kiss before they clean themselves and have a small meal in silence. After, Goro follows Akira to the edge of the city, as prepared as he can be for a deadly journey into the desert.

“There’s no fixed or known path,” Akira says again, “but this is the starting point.” He picked his way along the city wall with precision, until they reached a cluster of dry brush. Hidden behind is a large enough gap to crawl through. “I showed you the note Morgana gave to me before I went. Keep going through the distortions. Don’t be tempted. There’s no turning back once you see them, either. This is where most people fail. But you’re strong. Right, Goro?”

The kiss on his cheek is fleeting and sad, but Goro chooses to draw strength from it.

A patch of blue flowers bloom just outside the hole in the city wall, their petals the texture of velvet between Goro’s fingers. A cryptic eye is carved into a stone. Beyond that, the dry and empty desert. Goro climbs through the gap, and without looking back at Akira and all he knows, he whispers ‘Mementos’ and takes the first step to save his life—or quickly ruin it.

There’s nothing for a while. And soon the shadow cast by the city is gone. Goro remembers the words from Isshiki’s withheld history, that the Gods and Goddesses gifted their lands with powerful artifacts, but there’s a price. In the bones and blood and minds of the people who take the journey. She called it a ‘true test of your essence.’

And then there’s the letter Akira had from Morgana that described three trials. Akira didn’t elaborate on his relationship with the mysterious man, but the note made him seem like a kind of mentor. The trials themselves were vague. In the first, supposedly, Goro has to answer how much he would give up.

 _Give up for what purpose,_ Goro thinks as he walks, but then a cool breeze runs past that contradicts the hot climate, and he doesn’t have to wait any longer.

“Your life was never easy, was it.” The voice floats flat in air. “Ever since your brother died, you were given a life that you weren’t prepared for. You weren’t expecting to become Prince.”

Goro’s foot stills, but he doesn’t stop.

“I’m sorry, Son. I always believed Akechi was the strongest of my children, but you proved me wrong that day. I wasn’t expecting it.”

A Shadow appears in the corner of his eye like it had in the city, but here it is more corporeal, less shapeless. It has a clear human form with a distinctive face and a familiar voice.

“You have proven to be a strong son,” his father says. “Just look at you now, walking the path to Mementos on your own, a path that has not been walked by royalty in centuries. Akechi could not have done what you have. This path is your destiny. Forge a mask, son. Come home, and we shall rule together.”

His legs tremble. He craves the praise and the acknowledgement for who he is. What will he give up? Why does he have to give up anything? Why can’t he stay here and listen just a little bit longer?

His father’s image fades as Goro walks past. He has never spoken to Goro like this. Goro knows his father can’t be here with him. Wherever here is.

_How far will you go?_

The sand turns hard, as if Goro is walking on stone. The sky darkens to just the amount of light illuminated by a single candle, a candle he’s seen before in the corner of his room. At first it was near the edge of his bed, but he moved it so he and Akira didn’t tip it over. The candle gives off enough light for Goro to see Akira standing there, lusting after another version of himself. He watches as Akira takes care of him, runs his hands all over his body, kisses him everywhere and spreads his legs wide.

Goro takes a step, and Akira stops loving _that_ Goro, and looks at _him._

“I’ll take care of you, Prince. Stay with me, and you don’t have to worry about anything.” Akira licks his fingers, one at a time. “You’ve suffered like me.” Another finger. “That’s why we’re perfect together, just like this.” Another. “Broken, because of our pasts. Let’s stay like this, forever in this room, hiding away with me from the power and responsibilities.” Akira lies on his back and beckons Goro to come to him. “A peaceful life. You want that with me, right? I know you love me.”

No, that’s not what Akira sounds like. It _sounds_ like him, the inflections in his voice, the hitch of his breath and the desperate sounds he makes when Goro breathes in his ear as he rides Akira’s hips. But this is not the Akira he loves. This fantasy could never compare to the real thing. This Akira’s eyes are yellow.

Goro takes off his shoe and throws it. Not-Akira smirks and disappears.

He takes the other shoe off for balance, and protection, but against what he can’t imagine. He’s always been here, following a path of stone under the swirling sky and red clouds.

_Can you acknowledge yourself after seeing what you’ve become?_

Goro stands before him. Only, it’s not.

“Long time no see, baby brother,” Akechi says. He smiles as sweetly as he did when he was alive. “You’ve come so far since we played together. I’m so proud.”

“You’re not real.”

“Not physically, no. You killed me, remember?” His mask cracks, and the evil that was always there seeps out. “I’m haunting you because you stole everything from me.” Akechi’s eyes are dead.

Goro wants to move, to walk away, but his feet are stuck. He covers his face, not wanting to see the man Akechi could have become, identical and better in every way except for his brown eyes.

Akechi gently removes Goro’s hands. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You always cried then too, didn’t you. Always tried your best to be recognized by Father and me. That’s why you did whatever I told you, isn’t it?” He squeezes Goro’s fingers together until they hurt. “You’re a perfect puppet. Even now, all grown up, you’re still dancing on Father’s strings.”

Akechi wraps a hand around Goro’s throat.

“You’re nothing. And your apathy killed me. You put the God Mask on me yourself, Goro.”

That’s not true.

“But I still love you baby brother. And if you let me, I’ll take your place. You don’t want this, do you? This life, this trial? It’s hard, so just stop here. I’ll do anything for you. Just close your eyes, and let me in.”

“No!”

Goro stumbles from Akechi’s grasp and into a thicket of black trees, and he remembers where he is and how he got there. He remembers the visions that came for him and his answers to them, and knows why no one talks about their fears revolving around the most important people in their lives.

He leans against a tree to recover. Carved into its bark is another cryptic eye. Blooming at its base is another patch of blue flowers. He picks one. It shimmers and shudders in his hand. The trees surrounding the oasis shift and reveal a new path into a wide, shallow basin, and in the center, a pedestal. He walks forward. His feet leave behind bloody footprints.

* * *

Goro knows what to do when he reaches the center. With the tip of the blue rose, he pricks his finger and lets a drop of blood fall into the bowl on the pedestal. The pool of dark water boils, and speaks to him.

_...Finally, you have arrived. Finally, you have found me. You wish to negotiate a treaty?_

“Yes.”

The voice hums. 

_…This is the power of the Gods themselves. You have made it this far, but are not yet finished. Are you ready to pay the price for your rebellion?_

“I am.”

_…My name is Robin Hood. I shall guide you through the sorrow of your people cast by the Grail that resides here._

The voice laughs. 

_…If you can handle me._

The pool runs clear and Goro can see straight into his soul. He plunges his hands in, but Robin Hood is elusive, hiding deep inside the water that burns his skin, so Goro pushes deeper, up to his elbows until his fingers brush the sharp tip of something solid. He latches on and heaves it out.

His hands and arms are raw, but with enough sensation to feel the weight of the object he’s clutching. A mask. Red, with a long pointed nose. He puts it on his face, where it belongs. It glows and disappears, but he can feel it ready to be recalled.

Akira asked that Goro not read his letter until he was ready to come home. Goro unfolds it from his pocket. By the time he finishes reading and steps into the desert, the path back to the city and what he must do are laid clear before him.

* * *

Akira cries into Goro’s burned hands when he returns. They look the same as Akira’s. Dark, and smoky. Swirled, but smooth. Red scars extending up to his elbows. Entirely numb, and only slightly painful.

“I didn’t realize how deep you’d have to reach into the pool.” Akira wipes his eyes. He stands, and retrieves something from his table. “I can extend them a little.” Akira carefully slides the gloves onto Goro’s hands. A perfect fit.

“White?”

“For justice.”

“Akira…”

“Goro, I was afraid you wouldn’t want to go. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it. You understand why, right? It’s different for everyone, and I didn’t want you to lose faith before you even started. But I knew you could do it.”

“I saw you, Akira.”

“...And you rejected me?”

“I rejected a lot of things that weren’t real. But this?” Goro runs a gloved finger down Akira’s cheek. “You? Never. Even so…” Their lips touch. “Maybe you can remind me?”

Goro’s hands are burnt and numb, but his skin is ablaze. Akira insists Goro wear the gloves until they heal more, and he does, but can’t stop himself from reaching and touching to remind himself that this is _real. This_ is the Akira he knows, one that his mind did not make up for him out of fear and lustful desperation in the desert.

Akira reminds Goro for the third time to rest his hands, and Goro ignores him for the third time. Akira climbs off and returns with a thin piece of silk. He pins Goro down and fashions a restraint around his arms just above the burns, tying him to the bed.

“We can still have fun like this, Goro,” Akira purrs in his ear. “Just relax, and let me take control, okay?” He holds two fingers to Goro’s mouth. “Here. Suck.”

Akira moves his slick fingers over both of them at the same time, generating enough friction from their skin to offset the saliva and Akira’s smooth hands. All Goro can do like this is thrust his hips into Akira’s hand, desperate, so desperate to touch. He forgets about his bound arms and tries to pull Akira down to him, but his hands don’t make it that far. 

“S-So unfair.”

Akira chuckles darkly. “I know. But you’ve had a long day, Goro. You can tell me if you’ve had enough.”

“N-Never, Akira,” Goro slurs over the sensation of their skin rubbing together between Akira’s hands, becoming more and more wet as he gets closer. “A-Anything you w-want…”

This time, Goro closes his eyes when he comes. Akira cleans up the mess that they’ve made between the two of them, and unties Goro, the truth and mysteries and each other finally laid bare, and sated in ways they never before thought possible.

* * *

“What are you hiding, Akechi?”

_Ah, so it’s back to the dead brother, is it?_

Goro touches the edge of his new gloves. “I found it.”

His father stops pacing around the mostly empty throne room. “You earned the trust of the people and they showed you the way.” He puts a hand on Goro’s shoulder. “I knew you could do it, Son.” His grip tightens. “Take me there. Loki has served me well, but we need new power. Greater power. Like the Pharaohs of old, I will forge a new God Mask.”

Goro knows that’s not the full story. 

His father spreads his arms out wide as if he were practicing his public speech. “With this, we can give the people something to believe in during these hard times. Putting their faith in me, they will see who the true chosen one is. A true ruler forged in the fire, not one who rises to legacy through the mistakes of his better blood.” He looks at Goro when he doesn’t react to the taunt. “Nothing to say, boy? You’re not one to hold your tongue.”

“Perhaps you went overboard with inducing madness, Your Majesty,” Gluttony laughs. 

“Could too much of the Influence cause irreversible damage? We’ll have to run some tests,” Greed says.

And just like that, everything clicks. Goro’s entire life and the legacy curated by his father come into focus. “I always knew you were vile, Father, but this is monstrous.” The connection between the Shadow Sight and the God Masks, between his father’s lies and Loki’s blessings, it’s all clear. And it’s all disgusting. The blessings repelled the influence of the Shadow Sight, but one form of suggestion was unknowingly replaced by another. The people have either been cursed by the Sight, or cursed by his father under the guise of protection. 

Yet even that wasn’t enough. What better way to solidify a legacy than to emerge from Oasis Mementos with a new God Mask to revitalize the public? There would be so much fanfare, the people won’t even notice their neighbors are still apathetic and running off into the desert.

“What are you talking about, boy?”

Goro doesn’t owe his father any explanation. Not anymore. The only thing he can do now is accept his own ignorance and strive to do better. Robin Hood’s mask comes easily into his hand, snapping into existence, pulled from another realm that recognizes him for who he is.

When it’s over and his father lies defeated on the ground, Akira quietly appears at Goro’s side, his decision to hold back and let Goro face his father on his own speaking volumes. Goro pulls the God Mask Loki from his father’s head. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” His father demands, a pitiful sight, while his advisors cower in the face of confrontation. “Betrayal? Abuse of power? I gave you everything, boy! You know better than anyone else that you can’t do this, Akechi!”

Goro frowns. “For once, you’re right. _Akechi_ would never do those things. _Akechi_ was your obedient puppet. Good thing I’m not Akechi, Father. My name is Goro.”

Loki’s faceplate cracks under his heel, and with it, the rest of the chains of his past.

* * *

“Never thought I’d be doing this again.” Akira says. He squints out into the desert as Goro climbs through the wall behind him. “I’m not complaining, but what else is left for us to do at Mementos?” 

“Robin Hood told me something when I forged him,” Goro says. “He said something about ‘sorrows cast by the Grail that resides at the oasis.’ I don’t know what this Grail is, but my Father said he was looking for the Source of the masks. Perhaps this Grail is one and the same. Maybe we can convince it to leave us alone.”

“By doing what, arguing with a god? Sounds dangerous.” Akira flips a dagger drawn from his pocket.

“Oh definitely.” Goro taps the thin sword hanging from his belt. “Let’s make sure we get its attention.”

The journey through the sand is easier than before. The distortions keep clear. The path is outlined by a trail of blue flowers, and Goro doesn’t have to throw any shoes this time. When they arrive at the oasis, Akira unpacks the ancient relic Satanael and smashes it against a tree. He follows Goro’s lead and tosses it into the central pool after Loki. The water bubbles, more angry than when Goro dropped in his blood, and unfurling from the pool, is a chalice; a grail with wings that grow larger and larger and tower above them, spanning the entire oasis.

“Humans are indeed amusing,” the grail rumbles. “I gift you great power, and you return it broken. Yet, you have acquired your own power from these depths, have you not? Such hypocrisy.”

It calls itself Yaldabaoth, God of Control. It claims to be the source of the masks and the Shadow Sight and countless plagues in the centuries before theirs. It talks about apathy flowing freely across the world to bring forth humanity’s feeble attempts at strength. Akira rolls his eyes and Goro couldn’t agree more; this thing talks too much.

“I have seen this rebellious spirit before,” the god says. “I have made a pact seven times prior. The turn of the century is nearly upon us. What say you? I can give your masks eternal substance and you can do with them what you will. Control your people. Ease their suffering. Become as gods.” It chuckles and the warmth of the desert evaporates. “Do we have a deal?”

It comes full circle, doesn’t it? All legends are exaggerated, aren’t they? The owners of the seven God Masks weren’t gifted a great power. They were ordinary people, cursed, just like him, just like Akira. Unfortunate souls playing a game because they probably felt they had no choice. Accept the deal of the god to end this ruthless cycle of power and suffering, when all it brought was power and suffering for centuries to come. A legend. A tragedy.

Goro believes in the righteousness of the ones who came before him, but the cycle and the trap, he cannot ignore. He doesn’t know what they tried before, but he knows what he himself is capable of.

It bubbles within him, the sound, the power, and Goro laughs and tears Robin Hood from his face as Akira summons Arsene, both taking a physical form in this place of power. Their light splits through the trees and the sky above, while Goro and Akira use their weapons to slash and chip away at the physical pedestal below. 

_This_ is what ruined Goro’s life, starting before he was born. It created the God Masks, the things the seven forebearers gave their soul for when they made a deal with god. The things that poisoned his father and killed his brother.

 _This_ is what ruined Akira’s life. It created the Shadows that invaded his mind when he was young, and forced him into the desert to give up his hands and subject him to trials that no one should have to face.

Yes, the Grail destroyed their lives. But in their suffering, they found each other. And together, they take it back.

The Grail laughs at their efforts, but they persist because damn this thing to look down on their lives and their fury lightly. They persist because they must. They persist, until an enormous panther races by and tackles the Grail right out of the sky. A man of bones riding on a ship races by, supporting a figure that opens its dress and unleashes an array of incredible ranged weaponry upon the downed god as a whirlwind keeps it trapped in its place.

More and more beasts and creatures join the fray, casting illusions in the sky and coordinating around Arserne and Robin Hood who act like a beacon. A group of men and women in bandages and rags stand around the edge of the oasis. Most wear gloves. Goro recognizes the bright yellow of the man controlling the skeleton. He gives Goro a thumbs up. 

With the combined strength and determination of those afflicted by the Shadow Sight, the god Control falls. It folds in upon itself, feather after feather, and sinks into the pool on the pedestal, but the water has nowhere to go. It quickly overflows and mixes with the natural water of the oasis, bubbling and gaining momentum and forming a stream, a river that runs straight through the desert and right to the heart of civilization.

* * *

> _There have been four major changes since I became Pharaoh._
> 
> _The first: my father is locked up, as are his advisors who were complicit in the coverup of my brother’s death, negligence of the Shadow Sight, and manipulation of the public. He asked if I would visit him, but I don’t have anything to gain from that relationship; this was a lesson I learned in the desert._
> 
> _The second change was to destroy the rest of the God Masks hanging in the palace. The people who claimed the power centuries ago suffered for it, just like the people of today. The least I can do is finally let their legacies rest._
> 
> _The third was unexpected. After the battle with Yaldaboath, people suddenly appeared in the city. Death in the desert had not been the punishment for not passing the three trials to the Oasis; it was to be turned into a Shadow themselves, the very thing that haunted them. With their shape and their will taken, they wandered, trying to communicate and reach out, but unable to cross the divide. Now, they’ve all come home._
> 
> _The final change… well._
> 
> — Pharaoh Goro’s Private Notes. Dated the 1st year after Mementos Springs

From the day he was born, Goro’s legacy was uncertain. He wasn’t the first son of the Pharaoh, nor the favorite, but eventually he would eliminate the Shadow Sight and become known as the God Slayer. It wasn’t something that happened overnight, and it certainly wasn’t easy, but by the time the streets were filled with the people once cursed and lost in the desert, there was no question that Goro forged this legacy by his own hand and those around him.

A lot has changed since he became Pharaoh, but some habits he keeps, like setting out into the city to be with the people. Even without his fancy robes or crown, he’s recognizable, mostly because of the stark white gloves that cover his hands and arms. Murals no longer depict Goro wearing Loki; instead they emphasize the power in his hands. Some murals are again marked by words, but they act as captions, instead of condemnation. 

As Goro studies one entitled “Desire and Hope,” a man approaches, dressed in a dark cloak with the hood drawn back. Fashioned around his neck, is a yellow tie. He offers Goro a glass jar decorated with tiny black cats and filled with a clear liquid.

“Water from the River Mementos, Your Highness,” the man says, voice familiar, though Goro can’t immediately place it. He can’t place the face either, but his blue eyes are striking. “It has some… interesting properties.” The man spreads out his hands. “Can I show you?”

When Goro doesn’t immediately respond, the man uncorks the bottle and pours a drop on his own hand to show no ill will, then motions for Goro to remove his glove. Well, Goro has certainly been through worse, and Robin Hood is just a thought away in case there is trouble. 

He removes a glove and holds out his hand. A single drop from the vial falls on the tip of Goro’s pinky, and his breath leaves him as quickly as his smoky burn evaporates into the air where the water made contact as if it were nothing more than paint caked onto his skin. He pinches his pinky with his nail; he can  _ feel  _ it.

“Show Akira.” The stranger pushes the bottle into Goro’s open hand, tugs at his yellow collar, and is gone, leaving Goro pinching himself again to make sure that his senses have not deceived him, and that the vial filled with water from the river that flow out from that broken oasis has truly healed him.

As he runs through the city to find Akira, he tries to figure out a better way to explain it than ‘a mystery man gave me a vial of liquid; let’s throw it on ourselves.’ Yet Goro wouldn’t have accepted the gift from the stranger if there wasn’t something nagging at the back of his mind, a kind of familiar presence, even though they had never met before. There’s also the fact that most people know Akira by his signature red gloves, not by his name. 

No. Could it really be…? 

Morgana never did tell Goro why he always wore a hood, but Goro has a hunch that it might have had something to do with the way he pulled out his own mask from the oasis, especially if he’s now offering healing water with his hood abandoned.

Before Akira can utter a single word of greeting, Goro pulls off their gloves and pushes him onto the bed with one hand, holding the glass vial in the other. To his credit, Akira responds with a raised brow but humors Goro, and entwines their fingers together and lets Goro pour. The water hisses and evaporates when coming in contact with their skin, until the burns melt away and their hands are as they were before they searched deep within the water at the pedestal for their mask and power.

Goro feels Robin Hood slip away too as the water removes the last of the burn, but that’s okay; he doesn’t need extra powers anymore. He’s already drawn from that strength, and now together with Akira, they can draw from each other. 

They hardly use their words after that. Really there’s no need. With the physical scars and years of suffering gone and no longer a constant reminder of what they gave up and what they bore, they let their hands speak for themselves the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3 This is my first fully-fledged AU, and I loved creating it and finding ways to incorporate all the little references to the game. (Plus that one 3-word Nier Automata reference :P )
> 
> Again, please check out [@clarocod](https://twitter.com/clarocod)'s art for this piece-- it's stunning, and breathtaking, and that part of the fic with the gloves is one of my absolute favorite moments, so it's incredible to see it brought to life so beautifully!
> 
> [ https://twitter.com/ClaroCod/status/1292974649945600002](https://twitter.com/ClaroCod/status/1292974649945600002)


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